A Plot Discover'd - The Pest-Controul Man's Seckond Visit - Evian Hyndemarshe - Nyghte Club

I rounded the cornere of litel my strete on Friday evenyng to fynd a smalle blue council Van parkd uppe alongsyde my neighbours house wyth the backe doore a hair ajar. Immediately I scrambld to hide me amongst the dust-cartes, knowynge my locality to be rather a dangerouse place at certeyn houres and eager to inuestigate and if possible t'enjoy any foule pleye that myght unrauel in't. The light was yette fayre and the citye at my backe was makynge ready for its Weekende Amusements I knew not what they were.

I festerd with the garbage. From my noxious bolt-hole I koude clearly see a lyte curll of smoak driftynge frome the fore-window, that proceeded from a small cigarette pincer'd firmly 'twixt two massive fingers that lookd fit to gouge a man's hande off. Fromme th'interior of the Van, and myngl'd wyth the smoke, there faintly ooz'd an elecktronic pulse garnishd wyth multicoloured arppegios, and my eare made oute a Croone. I was on the verge of steppynge oute and casually enteryng my house when a Gentleman of the Councille gotte oute of the van and began dumpyng bags full of flies and verminne on my doorstep. 'Sblood!

-Heretics! Cradle-snatchers! I cryd at my fvllest, lurchynge from the hydyngplace and brushynge offe a banana skynne. The monstrous syte was enough to stoppe the council Van in the inept three-poynte turne it was already assayyng. I thunderd up to the windscrene and gave them a looke of utter contempte.

-Get oute, comxcombs, and picke up those flies and vermin, I sallied. Thou'rt bothe for the choppe if not, I added wyth more convixion and puttynge my hande into an imaginary inner pockete to retrieve an imaginary rapier. Oute of thatte vanne at once! I bullyd theme bothe into collecktynge all the verminne, lockd them into the seald backe of the vanne wyth it, and drove said torture-chamber oute onto Kingsland Roade whereat I parked it on a Red Route and posted the keyes into a storme-draine. I then marchd up to the nearest telephone boxe, hackd my waye throughe the pornography and immediately range up the Councille.

-Hello. Welcome to Hackneye Council, twitterd the Bint. Please press '1' for an 'I Love Hackneye' badge. Please press '2' for Parkynge. Plese presse '3' to finde oute about leisure and servyces. Please presse '4' to speke wyth youre dustman. Please press '5' to notifye the councille of a gun battle. Plese presse '6' to comment on Nursynge.

I smashd at '0' lyke a goaded ox. Confound the squalid river-delta of choises that is the ramifyinge lunacy of right ingenious automated telephony! After a spate of hammerings at that '0' and one innocente misdirection to the fashion dept I eventually founde myselfe spekeing wyth the selfe-same Pest-Controuller whom I had enthusiastically anathematiz'd in my privayt momentes since firste I mette hym. I demanded to knowe what thys was, he was supposd to be cleneing oute the verminne not pourynge it inne. And that ratte was stille in my roome. He apologysd and promisd to be rounde in two houres tyme, for he hadde a rabid budgerigar that wantd stiflynge and it koude nat wayte. I mockinglye accepted thys feeble crumb of Hys Mercy and decyded to enter my house to wayte - an activitye from whyche I have not hadde muche pleasure since the Ratt-Episode.

I brushd myself downe on my way oute of the boothe, and turnd backe into my syde-streete. It was to my shocke and consternation that I notyced a Woman in a fyne blacke coate knockynge on my doore. She seemd to be lookynge uppe at my windowe and even took a deuce steps backe the better to looke at't. I moppd my browe and quietly approachd.

-Madame? I venturd.
-There you are! She cryd and spanne rounde. Mr Nashe, hello, she sayd and softly extended her hande from the costly sleeve.

My gut wrungg in embarassmente. Thys was more or lesse unprecedented. And what was more, thys was Evian Hyndemarshe, wyth her pleasaunt face peepyng oute from the collar. She wore a clothe cappe, sun-glasses, a goode formal dresse under the cote, and smarte flatte shoes at her lowermost poynt. She tooke offe the glasses and lookd at me. How d'you do? She askd.

-Miss Hyndemarshe. Fyne, thank you. Will you come inne, Ime afrayd it's rather a Typp.
-Delighted, she replyd courteously, foldyng her glasses wyth attracktiue precision.

I led her uppe my steps past the hepes of accreted rubbysh I never car'd to clene, and her excellent shoe trodde on many of my pamphlettes. Enterynge the kitchenne I realisd the Ratte was styll festerynge in the bedroome.

-Please sitte downe, Miss Hyndemarshe. Have you longe? Ile put the kettle on.
-Thank you, she sayd as she drew out a chaire.
-If youle excuse me there is a smalle mattere I must attend to i'th'othere roome, pray forgive me, sayd I, edgynge toward the chamber.
-Certainly, Mr Nashe, Ile see to a cuppe.

When her backe was turned I slippd through the dooreway and quickly closd it behind me. I lookd to the corner. I lookd to the deske. I lookd at the discomposéd bed, and I didde not see the Ratt. What freshe helle was thys? An abominable Ratte-shapd faux pas was brewynge and I was powerlesse to wrest it off the stove of fate. My brayne welter'd at the prospeckt.

-Mr Nashe? came the voice of Evian.
-Just a moment, I calld back.
-I realise I haven't tyme, we must speke at once.
-Very welle, Ile come.

I came backe into the Kitchen where she was standynge by the doore. I nonchalantlie inspecktd the Roome.

-My father has a jobbe for you, she sayd. You must review the Old Jerusalem Coffehouse this nyght.
-Old Jerusalem? I shalle, I replied gallantly.
-But because 'tis unseemly to dine alone in so informal a settynge he suggestd I accompany you. Havynge much pity for youre recent ille healthe, as well as being generally pleased at your persoun, he sees fitte to win you once and for alle to hys employmente by my showynge you a Nighte Oute, which sholde compensate for the Tyme you must have hadde after your latest commission at the Bison.
-Yes, I shoulde lyke that very mvche.

At thys point a whyte whysker sprang silentlye from the cupboard under the synk. I hurriedly dragged my aghast eye off't and back to Evian who demurely inspected the flore. After a silence in whych my nerves were too great to allow of speche she lookd up agayne.

-Mr Nashe, she broke out, we must leave very shortly for the bookynge is Imminent.
-Miss Hyndemarshe, let's. I wille be much refreshd by youre companie. Please to waite here whilst I chaunge.
-I shalle. But hurrye.

I hadde no choise but to returne to the bedroome. I dashd to the deske and wrote oute a note for the pest-controul man, enclosed it with a keye in an creme envelope and scrawld 'council' on't. Thys achieved, I listened for a moment at the doore. I heard only Evain hummynge 'Mary Hamilton' in the Kitchen, and screme nor Ratt-squeak did emanate. I struggld into my critickal outfitte and stuffd note-booke and council lettere into my pockette before re-emergyge into the Kitchen a little untidy.

-Good, sayd Evian.

I noted wyth horrour that the Ratt, whych had slippd oute onto the flore, was approachyng her from behinde wyth all ravenyng aspects usually attendant on predatory creatures deprived of their just meate.

-Let's go, I sayd, and led her to the staircase door. She saw to the latch. As she did, I turnd and saw the terrific beast silently hurl itself at us, its long fangs hinged uppe and a paire of rede eyes brimmynge wyth malice. The cry of digust I stifld emergd as a small cough as I punted the beaste full into the bedroome and ran to slamme the dore. Evian spun rounde decorously, as was her wont.

-What is it? What was that sounde?
-Nothynge I sayd, I don't lyke the draughte.
-But that foot-ball sounde, what was thatte?
-My neighboure.
-Your neighboure?
-Yes. Now we have to go, I sayd as I userd her oute of the roome. I'm afrayd I have a manne comynge and I have to leave hym a note.
-A note? What kynde of man? Her innocent face lookd at myne. What WAS that sounde?
-I have to leave't, he's from the council. Don't worry.
-At thys houre?
-Yes, he's a very busy manne.
We proceeded downe the steps.
-Here it is.
I got oute th'envelope.
-There's a keye in't.
-Yes, he has to get inne.
-Mr Nashe, you seme extremely foolyshe to leve youre keye oute for any old Tinker to come and Burgle you. And also to go on wyth such sinister noises in youre house. Are you sure I oughtn't go?
-Quite sure, Miss Myndemarshe -
-Evian.
-Evian.
-Right, we'll go.

And wyth that we steppd oute; I shutte the dore behynde us; and slippd all but the edge of th'envelope under the matte.

Over dinner we talkd of odds and endes concernyng her fathers Estate and Business interests whyle enjoyyng the fare. Finally we settld into Coffee, and she spoke quietly and atte lenghte of her father's illnesse. I have not the wit to reproduce her tragick story here; I must hasten to the conclusion of this evenyng's without further ado, for it was a derelickt and carnalised promenade on whych we were to fynde ourselves a-strollyng, whose excesses befit my humble Pen much more closely than does her dutiful and unprintable sympathy.

It was duryng the drayning of oure last cuppes that Evian lookd into my eye wyth her eye and tolde me she knewe of a Nyghte Club to which we could repaire.

-Evian, I have never bene to suche a place. I shall never go.
-Thomas (for we were on first name terms by now, and had been ere long), you must come and have one further drynk wyth me and that ys the place, 'twould be a shame to squander my father's benvolence by sendyng yourselfe holme at half past ten.
-I shan't, I sayd wyth vigour, there is no Question of't. I should sooner drynk congealèd milk than attend suche a plase, I knowe their content and style to be utterly degraded.
-Come, she sayd, there is muche more to saye.
-Thou'rt misleading Nashe, I muttered. And then more loudly: take me not to the 'Nyghte Club' nor any affiliated venue! Send me home in a Hackneye Carriage; I do not care. Thank you for dinner, you are the apogee of gentille womanhood. Goodnyghte.
At thys I cast some of her father's money onto the tableclothe and executed a brilliant volte-face that I assume quyte ruind her evenyng because she cryd oute and pursu'd me into the noisy streete.
-Stop, Mr Nashe, thys is ludicrous.
-Let me go. She hadde my arme.
-Come on, one drynke.
-No!

Just thenne, a tall ghoulish manne approachd from behynd her, and intond 'Evian' in a low and penetratyng voix. She shriekd and affectionately introduced her body to hys. Each was kissd on its respective chekes.

-Thys is Thomas Nashe. This is Mr. Ballast. He is my uncle.
-How do you do, I sayd, embarassd at my pitchd battle wyth his neice.
-Good evenynge, Nashe, sayd Ballast.
Pause.
-Evian, would you lyke to come to the clubbe?
Evian's eye twinkld wyth triumph.
-Yes, we shoulde bothe. Mr Nashe works for my father, Ime just keepyng him companie.

Under force majeure of gentlemanlinesse I was compelled to go to the Club. It lay in Soho, down an alley that sat at an odd angle to the thoroughfare, that barely contaynd its blue awnyng or velvet-cabled queuestall. There was nobody outsyde, so I followed Evian and Ballast down into the depths of the strete, into the dark hole and oute of syghte.

In the foyer a man sate at a deske. Evian signd me inne. This is Mr Ironhand, she sayd, he ownes it. Mr Ironhand produced - improbably - an iron hand from under the deske and shooke myne.

-Welcome, Thomas Nashe, to our Clubbe. Please enter and leave quietly.

Ballast led us into the Private Roome, where we sate on good grene leather chaires and had a drynk of whysky.

-Tell me, enquird Ballast, have you met any of Evian's relatives?
-I worke for her father, I replyd, keen to make a Good Impressioun.
-Rodney Hyndemarshe is the acne of mankynd, spake Ballast.
A pause.
-Please speke agayne? I sayd as Evian extended a horrifyd glance to'ard me.
-He is the most excrescent jewel in the crowne, extolled B, a credit to psychiatry. He ys the verger at the church of equanimosity, the sultan of mortality and well-deservyng of hys deathe.
A light in hys eye showd he was quite transported.
-Thomas! whisperd Evian, you must forgyve hym, he hath a wayward synapse. Uncle, Thomas knows all about my father. Why don't you introduce hym to some other members?
-With pressure! declard Ballast. The voice rang on.

-That, o'er there, is Mr Treasury, whose cactus is always flourishyng. He ownes thys place. That is Miss Dribble, who is an infamous stencil; that Mr Crauford-Fermont, a wealthy ingestor; that is young Mr Varicose, whose mother is a cyan criminal, contorted in early lyfe and quyte the better for it. Hard by you may read Messrs. Sinew and Scalpel, the Doctours. O'er there are Grimworth and Oppenheim, genteleman hunters of the Aral Sea. And there is a secretion of Younge Ladies and Gentlemen aboute the plase whose names I knowe not.
I tooke them alle inne.
-Now, Mr Nashe, continu'd Ballast, where are my manners? Kepeing you two here in bonds. Woulde you dragge Evian for a daunce?

I was happy to, but where should I take her?

-The daunce-flore, of course, smild Ballast. You young triffids ought to get on wyth a daunce.

I stoppd chewyng my ice-cube and lookd at Evian.

-Well, come on, she sayd, unlesse you have to run away home.
-I do not! I burst forth heroickally and stampd on the carpet. Come wyth me, swete Evian, and have thy delicate feet given the wings thy back already richly deserves!
She blushd a little and stoode up at thys awkward invitation.
-Very well, Thomas. See you soon, Uncle Ballast.

Evian led me up a short flyght of staires to a double doore through which the sounde of loud, energetick music was faintly audible. A man sat at a deske besyde it.

-Good evenynge Mr Hulahoop.
-Good evenynge Miss Hyndemarshe.
-Thys is Mr Nashe. Woulde you sign us in and open the Air-Locke for us?
-Certainly Miss replyd the factotum, and threwe open the doore.
We entered a short padded room wyth double doores at t'other ende. The music was muche louder in here.
-Thankyou Mr H. Please close us uppe, commanded Evian, and that gentleman did as he was tolde.

A short waite.

The double doors opposite blasted open and I was knockd to the ground by an appalyng pummeling of rhymickal noize. Evian landed almost atop me and the situacioun was extremely sensityve. We draggd ourselves oute onto the daunce floor, where sundry other couples were crawlyng around under the black pall of noize. A bar stood empty for nobody koude reache it. Many lyghtes pulsated. Finally, we hauled us into into a chaire and were strappd in by the sounde.

-What a terrible Idea, I mutterd. A couple was attemptynge to pleasure itselfe on the daunce-flore.
-What? howld Evian
-Let's go, I cryd.
-Let's go, screamed Evian but her wordes were lost in the Din.
I tried to replye.

Ten minutes later we were backe i'th'Air-Locke.

-Hulahoop? calld Evian, but there was no answer.

Distracktedly she lookd aboute her. My Ear was ringynge wyth the noise.

-Thom. she said in a friendly waye, I'm very sorry aboute that. Thou lookst lyke a car-accident.
-Yes, I sayd. And you. Looke, youre eyelashe is oute of joynte.
-My eyelashe?, she askd as I approachd to shew her.
-Yes, 'tis -

At exactly that moment the dore to the Disco erupted open agayn and a mighty buffet of noise forced Nashe and Evian against the walle, whereat Evian felle upon Nashe, and Nashe upon Evian, and by the time the interior door was prised open by the remiss Hulahoop, bracketed by the vigilant Ballast and Treasury, and those three men had turned their faces in concert to the scandalised Aire-Locke interior, they were ready-claspd i'th'corner, havyng begun at a kisse that gave such satisfaction to both parties it had continued, and did continue, past all distractioun. Nashe was summarily detached and led off for Expulsion in Disgrace, and the cordial handshake of Mr Ironhand scourd away the last impressiouns of her soft and fragrant hayre.

The Mourning After - Matters of Businesse - Mr Hyndemarshe and Hys Daughters

...

The red sunne rose on a newe daye to fynde me groanynge and pukynge - ay, vommitynge - into a buckette of inadequate size, cursynge the hell-bred cheffe and all his devil-waiters. Its light scourd my bed-roome, where it refleckted off my mirrour into my wretched visage to blind me as I regurgitated Oyster-Pie and 'banana waterloo' right into the meagre receptacle.

Abstrackt'd, I listennd to the pig-language that came oute of my sickynge mouthe with some degree of distaunce and self-contempte, and eventually managd to muster myselfe sufficiently to stande up (whereat I felle downe) and groane (whereat I was sicke again), and finally to dragge myselfe lock stocke and barrell into the pale whyte bathroome to make an ende of the repulsyve businesse. Thus evacuated, I dranke down some cloudy tappe-water and examined the open quarrie that resembled my face. My eyes were lyke holes dryll'd in dede flesshe, and my teethe had turnd yellow and jutted oute of my mouthe. My chekes were compressd, my ears distorted, my for'ead scord wyth tram-lynes. I immediately regretted my choise of employmente and staggerd into the kitchen, where I slumpd on the floor and wishd sincerely that my owne death wolde come, that I might be renderd the posthumous Dignity of seemyng to have buckld under the duresse of condiciouns that were truly lyfe-thretenynge. As it was, I could not thusly save face and so I was forcd to slepe awhile there, until the hard flore and despicable Birds awoke me three houres latere.

Usynge only my armes, I draggd myselfe to the stove and boyld some water for Coffee. I didde not forgette I hadde a dede-lyne and, forcynge myselfe to my unstedy fete, wente backe into my roome to clere away the Emissions and set uppe my quille, drippynge cold swett onto everythynge. The review I wrote was favourable, yet I lyke to thynke it was also even-handed and not at all in awe of the legendary establishment or its superintendent ungulate.

The Observer Food Supplement

The Royal Bison, Mayfair

By Food Writer Thomas Nashe


A Mayfaire Institution synce 1804, The Royal Bison has long tradyd on its reputacioun as an exclusyve dinynge roome and jazze venue, where the publick are kept quite safely oute of the picture and meals of tremendous scope and sise can be enjoyd by gourmandes. For a starter I hadde Plover Puddynge wyth a pinte of beaujolais. Three Urchyns were heard shoutynge outsyde whilst I gobbld it and they were summarily lind up and shotte by the Head Waiter, who in spite of which Blip, remaind thoroughly solicitous toward thys critick; he is to be Noticed. My glasse was kepte brimmynge as I powerd aheade into the entree, halfe a baby ox wyth its tongue on a silver spyke, and remained unfinishable as I island-hoppd betwene orchid souffle, bumblebee flan and swan holocaust surprise. It ys the policye of thys restaurante to blende the flavours and as I ate wayters came t'introduce fresh side-dyshes - bird of paradyse on a stycke, elephant-tail noodles, slow-worm fricasee and th'unsurpassable fusion dysshe rhubarb crumble con carne. My second glasse was also fylld wyth water from seven rivers and my backe was increasingly cushiond as I got into the Swyng of trenchermanshyppe, finally lyinge expertly prone wyth camel sorbet and hi-protein coffee stremeing downe my chinne.


The servyce was nonpareil and I sholde recommend thys as a dinynge experience to suite th'unpopular or particularly greedye amongst you - if you happen to falle into bothe campes then G-- ha' Mercy. I woulde not recommende male readers brynge their wyfes as they are bounde to excyte jealousy from the resident company of women who are so vilely swollen and greyed wyth excesse they looke like their own family vaults, and whose patience is worne so extremely thinne from under-use they they mighte very welle lose It at the slightest hiccough.


The total coste of the meal was £274.21 includynge servyce so I would not recommend thys restaurant to the Poore. The head cheffe, M. Lapin-Muerte, is a true master of nouvelle cuisine and he is to be stuffd and displayd in the Foyer when he dies in the line, the fate of every truly grete cuisinier.


I seald up my Review and struggld rounde to my employer Hyndemarshe's house, a massive mansion in Belgravia where he receivd me in his opulent sitting-roome.

-Sit downe Nashe, he began, I see you are very Ille.
I tooke a chaire wyth its backe to the door and there ensued a short silence. A droplette of sweate fell on the Persian Hearthrug.
-Sir, I have written a review.
-So I shoulde thynk, he snorted before blowynge hys nose on a fyve-pounde note. Let's see't.

I handed himme the paper wyth shakynge, clammy handes. He read it over.

-Yes, the Bison, the food, the waiter. You haven't mentioned the gardens.
-No sir.
-Never mynd. Thys semes welle, please let me paye you.
-Thank you sir.

He retird into a further roome and returnd wyth a handful of money that he directlye threwe on the carpette.

-Thank you Nashe he sayd and I sat there starynge up at hym wyth eyes shinyng from sickness. You can go nowe, get youre money.
-What is the meanyng of this, I sayd (feelynge the old fyre in me), why can't you give it me?
A board creakd in the hall. He merely lookd at his fete.
-Why did you that, callous toade? I demanded, tryynge to stande uppe but faylynge and feelynge the dampnesse of my shirte on the leather chaire. Ide lyke you to gyve it to me, please.
-Bad backe, he sayd.
-L---, I replyd, what is the matter wyth you?
-Ah! He cried, and rounded on me. I have been sufferynge so longe and fruitlessly to be a decent employer, Great G-- I cannot respect those who labour under me sufficient to treate them better than earthwormes! It is a knitting-needle jammed in my soule, my bad backe is merely a fiction to proteckt myself, pity me!
-Come agayne?
-Oh, my sordid lyfe, fulle of moneye and insufficiently usefulle to the wyder worlde. 'Tis hypocrisy to paye you, 'tis hypocrisy to lyve, let me die, let me die!

I wonderd at this abrupt change in the emotional Climate. He was weepynge great bigge teares and rollynge around in the moneye, and my teethe chattered as I lookd on, paralysd wyth Illnesse. At that moment, a knocke came at the doore so suddenly I cried oute loude and was able to swivell my head just sufficiently to see a younge womanne with black ringlets come pokyng her hede in.

-Daddy! She screeched and ran to hym, strokynge his grete bigge balde hede. You are havynge another Episode. Do something!

The latter comment was addressed to me and I strove to stande uppe.

-Get some water, he is most unwelle.

I shuffld out of the drawyngeroome onto a polyshd landyge from whych I coulde observe a bathe-roome. I totterd inne and filld a tooth-glasse wyth water before returnynge limpinglye to the sittynge-roome. The girle was smoothynge her father's face wyth a cold flannel and usyng th'other hande to scrape up the cashe into a litel hepe. She was a swete-facd girl but somethyng hadde gone wronge in her to distort her. It was notte the eye. Nor the face at all. As I ponderd on I notycd she had rather a shorte necke and it made her looke a touche dwarfish although she were not conceivably a dwarf. She tended to Mr Hyndemarsh very lovynglye and when she stoode to help hym uppe I notyced that she was actually rather prettye.

These are my daughters, Ide lyke you to mete themme sayd Hyndemarshe when the moral panick had been utterly extinguishd. Thatte - he indickated another girl approachyng from the hall - is Volvic. Thys is Evian. They are my sole helpe in th'extremity of my indolence. Here Evian put her arme arounde hym. Nowe take youre money and go, go!

I hurryd out and shiverd backe to my lodgynge, where the pest-controul invoice lay fringd with coffee on my desk, wayting for me to paye't. Meanwhyle the huge whyte rodent lay in the corner of the room, where I fancyd I saw it twitch.

Criticism - Nourishmente - Bison

Gentille reader, whose eyes ought daily to be washd in teres of modest gratitude for youre gigantick intellect and sound right-thynkingness, praye do not averte your tender weeping-balls from my latest shockyng adventure. You will fynde yourselfe somewhatte the better for't; here is verily a Moral Dagger wyth Witte and Tragedy drainyng down the Fuller.

Upon leavynge my home I walked streightway to the puny yet conwenient Shoppe on the corner and obtaind a Jobbe whose scope and relevance styll make the droole runne down my jerkyn as I wryte. What illustrious employmente! My prosing dayes were done! Nowe the innocent Apron of my misdireckted minde shoulde become the canvasse for a newe worlde of funcktionality that I lookd for'ard to wyth tremendous shaykes. For I - and I do not exaggerate - had founde th'employmente to ende alle Employmentes. A Crusade. A quantumme lepe in status. I walked oute of the Shoppe a Restaurant Critick!

I kickd some innocent Inferior People oute of my way as I made straighte for the Taylors. A hatte and a bibbe, Nashe. Wipynge my salivatynge mouthe on a sewer-ratte I plungd hede-firste into the bakerye where in my phrenzie I ordered a frozen pea be bakd into the centre of a skull-shapd lofe, hadde to renege on't, and finally lefte it in the arms of a tiny old manne weepynge profusely and claspynge't to hym. But steye I koude not, and I rapidly pourd all my glory and happyness downe on themme lyke the fat smylynge blancmange of ecstacy who awaiteth the quyck and the dede bothe. Crossynge the roade under the benevolente sunne I smyld at all aboute me. A baby was workynge at a lollipop wyth its vacuum lips thrashynge on it. No taste, I mus'd goodheartedly as I considerd that a babye has but a rather litel diet. The Taylors!

Bib! Noodlehead! I blasted the toadying Doorman whose toppe hatte was fleckd with cobwebbe and mil-dewe as he inclind it to'ard me. As the door shutte behynd, I watchd the shop come pulsatyng into view fromme my sun-blasted vizion and amongst the junk-yarde of clothe, ribbons, mannequin hedes, over-pil'd Stock, collapsd Stocke, shotgun cases, cigar barrells, tuxedoes, fether boas, eager-faced assystantes, ruind marble Pillars, crownes, bow-ties, sunglass rackes, curtaiynd cubicles and hap-hazard plankynge, I made oute the exackt out-fitte right on a Dummy at the backe. Soone enoughe I was trimme as a barber's Razor and armd to the teethe wyth cutlery. I payd the Taylor wyth a credit-note on the name of my new Employer Mr Hyndemarsh and lefte the windowe rattlynge in its Frame wyth the velocity of my exitt.

Thys breake-necke pace continued throughoute the daye as I rushd dementedly from one place to another, often withoute knowynge where or who I was. It maye puzzle the reader somewhatte why I chose to become a Restaurant Critick with such an access of Lunacy, and I see fitte to explayne; let the narratyve retyre from my splenetick selfe raving around Clapton in the drizzle to consider the situation from the comfortable fyre-side of Reason.

The symple answere was that it was a solution to last weke's problemme. Another factore was the prospect of eatyng a great deale of food and gettynge paid for't. But the Principall Reasoun for th'extremity of my Episode was that I was so extremely Satisfyd with seleckting so marvellous a jobbe thatte I was quyte beside myselfe wyth pride. Pride is the burdenne of a man lyke me. I must always guard for't and watche for its huge eye wynkynge at mye follye. The mighty sun-glasses of Modesty may defleckt its gaze awaye but even Phancies and acheivementes that are only dimly percievd by th'Eye of Pride are turnd to World News in your afflicktd Nashes mind. I do not thynke that I am alone in thys - indeed I am not askinge for sympathy. Onlye that the merciful reader understande that a man who ever excells must be torturd by that excellences burdenne. And in my case it is the endlesse watchynge and flattery by that wicked Eye, probyng for anothere scrappe of my genious.

Nowe to my firste assignmente: the Royal Bison in Mayfaire.
Welcome to our delicious restaurant! Exclaimed a French Door-Person(f) as I entered. Th'exclamation hung in the aire lyke a body from a gallowes. I performed a volte-face yet was somehow escorted inwards by a waiter. Firste Impressioun: Feeble. Decor outmoded and girle is muche too friendly & a liar. Poor use of adjectyve. Potential endyng: Style rydes Substance down to Helle screaming. It was to a small perfectly rounde table that I was conduckted wyth some deference. I tippd my wayter wyth an edition of Proust and satte downe to Take Stocke. The Bison is frequented by enormous moneyd people who brynge theyre familys close to their clubbe and office to shewe them offe to theyr friends. It also caters to some minor members of Parliamente who havynge dined in't for thirty yeares are sustaynd by a complex cock-taile of drugges the head cheffe puts into their usual dishes, keepynge them coming backe. Some never leve. It is rumourd that the titantic Bison suspended from the ceilynge in fulle Viking regalia was a gifte from a certayn Lord who foudne hymselfe in thatte position and orderd hys bisonne broughte to calme hys nerves. Now it was suspended like the Sword of Damocles over a preposterously Fat woman whose arms billowd & thundered out of her sylk dresse lyke a rockslyde. Lyghte classickal musyck rotted on the synthetyck aire. Waiters made softe breezes as they passd wyth theyre trayes and note-books. Thys was only the beginynge.

Waiter! I whisperd and instantly 10 of them were at my feet. You! I seleckted the least French-lookynge. Brynge me the Set Menu, the beste one, and please also some Brede-Stickes & houmous in a silver dishe. Please also bringe a monocle a typewriter sixty cigarettes four months worth of Milk and St James' Park. He bowed and brought alle of the above in plastick Minature, which impaird their function severely. When he returned I was grinding Buckingham Palace under my bootheele in an attempt to take a turne i'th' parke. Here is youre Scottish Plover Pudding as startere sir, servd wyth Blakke-Power icecreme on a four-poster bedde of Rockette and Pine cones. He stood by as I drew out my shortest and most modest forke. He lookd on as the implement approachd. Suddenly I screamd and smashed my arm into the aire.

Don't looke at me! I commanded. Instantly he turned away in fright and shame.

I ate the course. Starter: Decent. Plov. Pudd. Not as good as Grandmother's. Rockette is crispe, full. Plover hede offerd for inspecioun. Adequate servyce. As I composed my review I noticd the waiter was crying because i had not notycd hym recentlye. Next course! I barkd and he smyld through hys teres.

More courses followd. One was a greate bowle of soupe and fulle of butterflyes beneathe the lidde. For the fish course, whych was crabbe, the waiter hadd a traind lobster who evisceratd the beast before oure eyes and emptyd the deliciouse mete oute onto the plate. For the next ----


[hiatus in M.S.]